gonna pick you up, okay?”
“I need to lose fifteen pounds first.”
He felt the start of a smile. “I can manage.” He slid his arms under her and lifted her up. Okay, she wasn’t a wisp of a thing, she had a point. She sure smelled good, though, sweet and warm. Her head settled against his shoulder, her hair brushing his chin.
The dog trotted into another room, tail waving, and Levi followed. Set her down on the unmade bed and took off her shoes. “Thanks, Levi,” she murmured, her voice distant.
He pulled the covers over her. Blue jumped up and put his head on her hip. Faith reached out to pet him without opening her eyes. “I’ll be out here if you need me,” Levi said.
“Okay.” Her eyes were closed, lashes a dark smudge against her cheeks.
Levi reached out to smooth her hair again, but he stopped himself. She was awake now. Sort of.
He went into her living room; her apartment was more or less the same as his, minus one bedroom. Unlike his, though, hers looked...homey, which was strange, because she was just back for a little while, so far as he knew. Nevertheless, one wall had been painted fire-engine red, and there was a red-and-purple throw on the couch. A bookcase held a couple dozen books, some photos and keepsakes. A women’s magazine was open on the coffee table, as well as a giant red mug with a sunflower painted on it. Her kitchen counter held a vase of yellow flowers. The wine rack was filled, he noted. As it would be, if your family owned a vineyard.
A gust of wind sent sleet crackling against the window, making him jump a little. It always surprised him, how innocent a gun could sound, like firecrackers. Or sleet.
Time to be useful. He picked up her cup and went to the kitchen. The dishwasher was full of clean dishes. Taking care to be quiet, he unloaded it, figuring out where things went, then wiped down her counters. Folded the blanket on her couch. Turned on the TV, found the YES Network, saw that the Yanks’ game had been canceled due to rain. Clicked around for a little while, then turned the TV off. Pulled out his phone and called Everett.
“How are things going, Ev?”
“Great, Chief! Um, we had one call asking for help on how to put the battery into a smoke detector—that was Methalia Lewis, and lucky for me, I have the same kind, so I was able to walk her through it just fine, Chief.”
The pride in Everett’s voice was obvious. “Good job.”
“Thanks, Chief!”
“Anything else comes up, just give me a call.”
“Roger that, Chief Cooper. Over and out.”
Seemed like the good people of Manningsport had exhibited some excellent common sense thus far and stayed off the roads tonight.
He looked in at Faith, who was sleeping with her arm around the dog. She might be hungry when she woke up. Going back to the kitchen, he checked her fridge. A bottle of white wine, an open Pepperidge Farm chocolate cake box, a roll of Pillsbury Dough cinnamon rolls, and a jar of artichokes. Cooking wasn’t her thing, apparently. He went back to his apartment, grabbed the container of meatballs and sauce, as well as a box of linguine, and took it back to Faith’s. She’d been asleep for about an hour now.
What to do. Levi drifted over to the bookcase. There was a sock monkey with pink button eyes and a pink bow. A little red vase, a tiny metal chicken. He couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine collecting such clutter. A Derek Jeter bobblehead. Here was a framed photo of her family at Pru and Carl’s wedding. Looked like Faith had been the flower girl—she was maybe nine or ten in the picture, holding a bouquet of flowers. Pru looked the same, except for some gray hair, and Carl did, too, though he’d thickened over the years. Mrs. Holland had been a knockout, same red hair as Faith, smiling at the bride, her arm around her husband. Jack looked sheepish, Honor pretty. A Golden retriever sat obediently next to Faith.
He put the photo down and went onto the next one. Faith and a friend in front of the Golden Gate Bridge on a foggy day, both of them laughing. Another showed Faith in work boots and jeans and a flannel shirt, standing in front of a fountain.
And here was a photo of her and Jeremy. The two of them at the beach, arms around each other. Interesting that she kept that on display.
He put the photo down and saw her next keepsake—a glass bowl of white beach stones. There, on top, was a little chunk of rose quartz, no bigger than a nickel and shaped roughly like a heart. He frowned, then picked it up and held it to the light.
“Someone gave me that after my mom died. Left it in my locker at school.”
Faith had changed into some pajama pants (red with Dalmatian puppies all over them) and a Blue Heron sweatshirt.
Blue bounded over to him and tried to mount his leg. “Blue, get off,” Faith commanded, and the dog obeyed.
Levi put the rock down. “How do you feel?”
She took a deep breath and tilted her head. “I’m okay. A little groggy. So I had a seizure, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Sorry you had to be here.”
“You should be glad, Holland. You could’ve hit your head on the counter if it weren’t for me.” He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
She gave a little smile. “Wow. A hero yet again.”
“Actually, your dog came to get me. Kept head-butting the door.”
“Really?” Faith knelt down and opened her arms, and the dog bounced over to lick her face. “Blue! You’re such a good boy! Good dog!” She kissed him on the head and looked up at Levi, grinning. “Technically, he’s a therapy dog, but he’s never been put to the test. I guess he’s got more going on than I thought. Yes, you do, Mr. Blue! You’re brilliant!”
She looked so...happy. Bright as a new penny, his mom used to say, and the saying seemed to fit. Levi cleared his throat and looked away. “So all this stuff... Are you staying?” he asked, gesturing at her bookcase.
“My roomie sent me a box of stuff. It may be a sign that her honey’s moving in for good. And some of that is from my dad’s house. The books and stuff.”
She hadn’t answered the question. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“Good. I brought dinner.”
“A multitalented babysitter.” She smiled.
A distant warning bell clanged somewhere in his brain. Faith’s hair was tangled, makeup smudged under her eyes. The baggy sweatshirt wasn’t doing her any favors—gave her the same shape as a side of beef, and somehow she radiated sex all the same.
“Call your father,” he ordered, going back into the kitchen to start the water for pasta.
It was impossible not to overhear. “Hi, Daddy, I’m fine,” she said, and he wondered if girls ever outgrew the need to call their fathers Daddy instead of plain old Dad.
For
